He lunched at the house of one of the
leading farmers, where as a boy he had been always made heartily
welcome. Before mounting his dog cart, he stood for a few minutes
chatting with Martha, his host's pretty daughter.
"You are not looking yourself, Martha," he said. "You must pick up
your roses again before I come back. I shall leave the army then,
and give a big dinner to my tenants, with a dance afterwards, and I
shall open the ball with you, and expect you to look your best.
"Who is this?" he asked, as a young fellow came round the corner of
the house, and on seeing them, turned abruptly, and walked off.
"It is George Lechmere, is it not?"
A flash of colour came into the girl's face.
"Ah, I see," he laughed; "he thought I was flirting with you, and
has gone off jealous. Well, you will have no difficulty in making
your peace with him tomorrow.
"Goodbye, child, I must be going. I have a long round to make."
He jumped into the dog cart and drove away, while the girl went
quietly back into the house.
Her father looked up at the clock.
"Two o'clock," he said; "I must be going. I expected George
Lechmere over here.
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